


The Mold of Humanity

by Ahhuya



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Artist Keith (Voltron), Character Death, Demonic Possession, Demons, M/M, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Murder, Murder Mystery, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Shiro, Shiro owns a dog named Pacman, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahhuya/pseuds/Ahhuya
Summary: Famous artist Keith Kogane gets accused of murder after his life like plaster statues are used to trap corpses inside. Trying to clear his name where the police can't help him, Keith hires psychic investigator Takashi Shirogane. Now, the young police reject has to figure out who would want to frame the artist he's grown so attached to.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35
Collections: Sheith Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here is my fic for the Sheith Big Bang! It's been a bit of a rush job, but I'm glad to finally be able to post it. I was a second wave writer for the amazing prompt from MsGaude. So please check out their work as well.
> 
> With that, enjoy!~

For normal people, the world is silent at 3am. Sleep dulls out most of the sounds, and those who don’t sleep, wander through the cold night where most wouldn’t go anymore. The night is a calming time for most. Shiro can’t count himself under those normal people.

At night, the dark turns dead. Too dead. Whispers hang around the room, following him to his bed and into his dreams. When he wakes, the shadows will stand over him, hoping for a conversation that can only go one way. In the end, it’s easier not to fall asleep and see them coming instead.

Shiro doesn’t know who is coming for him tonight. It changes every time. The young girl from the traffic accident across the street, the man who killed himself in the bathtub three streets away, the woman suffered a fatal heart attack twenty years ago, or someone he has never seen before. They travel around, find someone to tell their stories to before they, hopefully, move on.

After an hour of lying awake in the deafening silence, he’s too awake to wonder if anyone even wants to come for him. Maybe they’re only interested in talking when he actually sleeps. They get closer when he does that. Now, it’s a matter of looming shadows in the corner of his bedroom, mixing in with the persistent darkness. He should have bought a nightlight, or leave the main lights on at night. But keeping the spirits away doesn’t fix anything, and in the end, they only come back stronger.

He turns over and reaches for his nightstand. The phone is fully charged already. The night is good for someone in the house at least. Though Shiro guesses he’s the only one with insomnia. Pacman doesn’t seem to have that problem either.

At 4:32am, five minutes after aimlessly watching the time slip by, he unlocks his phone, planning for a few hours of scrolling empty browsers before his alarm tells him he’s been awake too long. It doesn’t gets to that this time. The moment his phone is awake enough to progress what it’s been missing, a series of texts pop up at the top of his screen. They’re all from Matt, the only other person who would be awake at this time, although  _ he _ actively chooses to do so. But Matt knows better than to text in the middle of the night without Shiro asking for it. There is, however, one exception for when every rule can be broken, and it seems tonight is that moment.

‘Did you see?’ The messages read, ‘it has happened again’

With the switching on of the lights, the spirits disappear for the night, and sleep is long forgotten. 

**…**

Once Shiro gets on his laptop, it’s easier to access the details of the event. His desk is covered in notes and images, trying to lead to an answer he hasn’t found for weeks now. On the ground is a stack of books about sculpting and plaster. Sticky notes stick out above the pages, but he hasn’t touched them in a while. 

The general rule is no coffee before 7am, but each image and video leaking online about the recent incident forces Shiro to down his first cup just after 5. In his career, he’s seen enough things that could haunt him for years, and maybe they do. Still, nothing compares to the image of a male statue, dressed in long robes, set in a park in the southern suburbs. It’s a beautiful statue, but it’s not supposed to be there. It isn’t a statue at all. 

When the clock in the bottom of his screen hits 6:45, he finally finds the energy to drag himself from his screen and picks up his phone again. Keith should be awake by now, if he wasn’t already. The wait for the other to pick up seems to take longer than normal. Perhaps he’s already busy keeping interviewers away.

“Shiro?” Keith’s tired voice sounds on the other end of the phone, “since when do you call this early? Couldn’t sleep?”

“That isn’t important right now.” Shiro says, “Did you watch the news?”

“Hmmm, not yet.” Keith yawns, “Something happened?”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles, to no one but himself, “our case is back on.”

…

Seven weeks ago, Shiro stepped inside the building at the end of the mainstreet for the first time. Now, it almost feels natural to be here. The bell above the door rings the same as always. The center of the room is mostly an open space, filled with empty eyes following his every step. A woman stands in the middle of the room, her dress falls down in a thousand ruffles. She smiles at him, and continues to do so even when his face is only a few centimeters away from hers. She wasn’t there the last time Shiro visited. 

It’s a compliment to have marble white skin, a sign of riches and lack of harmful sunlight. For Shiro, the true compliment lays within the woman’s skin itself. Plaster may be cheaper than marble, but it’s just as white in the artificial light of the studio.

She’s almost alive if it weren’t for the blank expression in her eyes. The strands of hair that fall of her shoulder are almost individually noticeable. A few get in her face. They must itch, Shiro thinks. She can’t move to get rid of them, and no one can help her. At her feet stands a small sign. ‘Mother’ the tag says, along with a price far above Shiro’s annual pay.

“See something you like?” Shiro looks up to Keith walking from the back of the room. The studio lacks any work in progress from the artist, besides a partial structure of styrofoam and wood displayed on a table at the side. Untouched for weeks. Keith, in his black jacket and with the dark circles under his eyes, doesn’t seem to fit in with the bright artwork. But Shiro knows he’s the only one who deserves to be with them.

“I was admiring your work.” Shiro smiles, “Your mother looks beautiful.”

“She was never my actual mother.” Keith sighs before the statue, “But she raised me and taught me a lot. She turned out to be the best model I could have wished for, even in death. But we aren’t here to talk about my family, now are we?” Keith says, as he turns around and leads Shiro to the coffee table in the back of the gallery.

**…**

Keith Kogane is one of the most known sculptors in town, and perhaps the country. Coming out of nowhere, with no history in art school or known internships within the business, Keith’s Heavenly Angels first landed four years ago. No one believed a man of only twenty years old could produce plaster works with such intimacy and detail on his own. But after sitting with the artist for multiple times now, Shiro knows that talent is indeed genuine. That he got hired by a man like this still feels like a miracle. 

A fake smile tries to hide the tiredness in Keith’s purple eyes. It’s been a couple of long, tiring weeks. Shiro is no stranger to the sleepless night. His own dark circles probably exceed Keith’s. He doubts Keith isn’t unfamiliar with them either. An artist’s life seems filled with allnighters on every documentary Shiro has watched. But allnighters might be better than the whispers of ghosts that make it impossible to sleep.

“So…” Keith stirs through his coffee. “After all this time, we’re back again?”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles. “It’s the first murder since you hired me. I think we should do anything we can now, before we’re stuck waiting for two months again.”

Keith hums softly. “Better do it quick, because I’m not looking forward to getting bothered with numerous TV interviews again. One can only tell them so many times that I don’t put bodies in my art.”

“I think they would have known if you did.” Shiro says.

“The cops could throw over my statues to check if they want. I have the mold to make another.” Keith shrugs, “Not that I trust them with my artwork though.”

Shiro laughs. “I doubt you would have hired me if you did. There aren’t a lot of people who hire a psychic for these kind of things.”

“You’re still an investigator, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t change the fact that people prefer having a psychic to contact their dead grandmother to fix the latest problems with their inheritance. Solving murders is definitely something else. The police don’t like it when you come walking in talking about ghosts.”

“Like their thinking got us any further.”

“They’re still in charge of the investigation.” Shiro points out.

Keith groans at that. The police are at the same dead end as they are. News articles are filled with holes, and journalists search for answers no one knows. No evidence, no suspicious people… no one. Except for the ridiculous rumour that it’s Keith himself.

“Did they find any details on who is trying to frame you?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head. “If they did, I wouldn’t need to hire you.

Shiro knows it’s the truth. No one would call for the spirits if it could be fixed in their own world. But with endless leads and continuous killings, Shiro guesses the ghosts of the victims are the only ones with a good story to tell. It must hurt to have your death encased in plaster. A morbid statue, equaling the beauty of the best you can find. But Keith’s statues don’t scream underneath the plaster. They’re almost too quiet.

Whoever would want to hurt Keith’s name, knows where it hurts the most. Within the statues of people close to him, of the beauty surrounding him. Shiro doesn’t call himself a big fan of art, but Keith’s work is hard to miss. Like living people cast into eternity. Angels, demons, gods, and goddesses standing in the room like they’ve never left the world.

Shiro clicks his pencil, until the lead falls out and breaks in three pieces on the ground. 

“And you’re sure no one you know could do this to you?”

“I told you last time,” Keith chuckles, “the only person who would want to ruin my career is Lance. And he’s a  _ photographer _ . We hang out for coffee once a month and complain about some horrible customers. If he’s making those statues, he’s been missing out on an amazing sculpting career.”

Shiro snorts. “So, not Lance. Any vengeful family?”

“All dead by now. Rotting somewhere in a field back in the countryside.” The soft tone in which he says so, gives Shiro goosebumps. For once he can’t blame the cold from the metal of his prosthetic arm. Another thing left rotting in the countryside. 

Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose. No relatives, friends or other known people with a grudge. They could be looking for a complete stranger in the city.

“So, any ideas on who it  _ could  _ be, before we start interrogating spirits.”

“Demons?” Keith tilts his head with a smile. “If we’re already on the paranormal side, why wouldn’t it be them.”

“Demons and angels are more of a human idea to work around any spirit they see.” Shiro shrugs.

Keith hums softly, tracing the edge of his mug. “A person then. Anyone.”

“But there might be a clue. You watched the news, didn’t you?”

Keith nods. It’s impossible to ignore the speed at which news travels throughout the city. In the half hour Shiro has been inside Keith’s studio, the phone on the other side of the room has been ringing almost nonstop. The first few tones of an pipe organ serve as background music to their conversation.

“We could check out the police station first. They moved the statue to the police station, we should ask to see it.” Keith says.

“It’s a start.” Shiro nods. And that’s more than they’ve had for weeks. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sirens wail from the back of the street. A number of police cars are parked in front of the station, leading up in a row to the bigger parking lot behind the building. It’s been a while since Shiro used to feel at ease at this place. More than eight years ago, with a dream to join the force as a detective. He never made it through the physical and mental tests, leaving him stranded with an unfinished internship under the kindest detective of the city.

He doesn’t know why he expects them to help him. He’s never been a part of the precinct. He doesn’t know anyone except for detective Holt. The man had had the biggest hope of Shiro’s future. He must not have expected it to be in his own business instead. Especially when the involves talking to ghosts.

The doors slide open in front of him. An open invitation to go on, and Shiro decides not to let it wait. Keith’s boots follow right behind. The cops don’t look up when they both enter. 

"I need to talk to detective Holt." Shiro says to the receptionist. She checks her computer, tries to clearly come up with a counter argument, but gives up when she looks at Keith. 

"The detective is busy." She tells him. "I don't think he will have time for you."

"It's okay." Shiro says. "We just need to ask something. It won’t take long."

She frowns, but still lets them pass through. She's new, Shiro notices. She doesn't know who he is, and might as well only be swayed by Keith's face. Shiro would do the same. 

They walk through the station, passing agents who Shiro wishes won't recognize him. Living through life as a police failure once is more than enough. 

The homicide department is placed on the back of the ground floor. It must be easier to have access to victims and evidence, as well as it saves the effort of dragging a full human statue up several floors. Shiro leads Keith around as he still remembers the station outlay. Not much has changed in the past few years. 

What has changed it the expression on detective Holt's face when Shiro finds him in his office. Where the man Shiro knew had bright eyes and a mostly optimistic view of things. Remarkable with the homicide cases that would already flood the department back then. Now the older man looks at his desk with a grim expression. The bags under his eyes are darker, and stand out against the gray hair surrounding his face and chin.

Softly, Shiro nocks against the doorframe of detective Sam Holt's office and waits for the man to look up. 

Sam's smile lifts a little when he sees Shiro, but drops instantly when he notices Keith as well. 

"What are you doing here?“ He asks after ushering the two men inside." How did you get in?"

Shiro shrugs. 

Sam shakes his head."I didn't expect you to just walk in again. Not after everything that happened during your time at the academy."

"Our jobs are still closely related." Shiro says.

"People stopped taking you serious the moment when you left to start your own business." Sam says, he walks back to his desk and sits down, offering the two men to do the same. "Psychic investigations aren't exactly known to be trustworthy."

"You know it's not like that."

"I do." Sam says with a deep sigh. "For you at least, but that doesn't mean I can suddenly start making distinctions between good and bad psychics. To the higher ups, it's all the same. I couldn't keep you with the force when you failed your tests. I still can't now that you’re a full psychic."

Shiro nods softly. "I do need your help though." he says and looks over at Keith. "I'm working on this case, but we're running dead. I need a victim to talk to."

"I'm familiar with Kogane's face. We've met." the detective says. 

Keith humms in agreement. "Didn't do much." He adds.

"What I mean to say," Holt continues, "is that we have enough on our mind here. Kogane is a suspect in his own case until proven otherwise."

“Then let  _ me  _ see the statue on my own. Talk to it. Keith can stay here with you if you want.”

Holt shakes his head. “It’s classified material, Shiro. You being best friends with my son won’t change that.”

“I can find the answers you are searching for.”

“You don’t know what it is you might find.” Sam says, his voice growing more irritated by the second, “Leave this to us, don’t bring yourself in even more danger.”

“Please, Sam." Shiro says," I just want to talk to it.”

“The dead won’t tell you what you want to hear, Shiro. It won’t help you save him.” He looks over at Keith, who looks around the room like the conversation hasn't been about him the entire time. 

As much as Shiro tries to plead for a small chance of seeing the victim and get information, the detective holds steady. Shiro won't see the statue. 

Sam Holt ushers them out together, giving Keith a long look after letting them both out of the homicide department and makes sure the two of them will leave the station as well. 

The front door slides closed in their face. The walk to the outside is one they gladly take without supervision, but one of the cops decides to walk them out anyways in case they try to return to their investigation. Possibly under the orders of Holt. Defeated, they trail to the park next to the station.

“I knew I should have taken my partner with me. He can get me in anywhere, even with Sam holding guard.” Shiro laughs as they pass several occupied benches. Each one with an even more hopeless couple than the other. 

“Partner?” Keith frowns. “I thought it was just you.”

“Pacman.” Shiro says and pulls out a polaroid from his wallet. The image shows a white and brown corgi in a black jacket, matching Shiro’s. The text under the photo reads ‘Pacman  ❤︎’  in a handwriting with similar happiness as the dog’s smile.

“Did you name him that because he eats ghosts?” Keith asks.

“Nah,” Shiro smiles, “he’s just fat.”

Keith takes the photo from Shiro’s hand and inspects the small dog. Shiro doesn’t need Keith’s smile as a confirmation that the dog is indeed  _ fat _ . It’s the result of big brown puppy eyes and lazy evenings with pizza. The corgi hangs so low on his paws that his fur is close to hitting the ground. The jacket saves him from most mud covered belly fur. 

“It’s a cute dog. Can’t wait to meet him.” Keith says and hands the picture back to Shiro, “but I doubt he can get us into a police facility.”

Shiro scratches his head and puts the picture back. “Yeah, free coffee might be the only thing a dog can get you.”

“Where’s the dog with free coffee when you need it the most.” Keith groans, and for a moment he almost wishes he hadn’t left Pacman with Matt for the day.

**…**

As it turns out, they don’t need the dog to get coffee. It isn’t the free one he’s been offered whenever Pacman got caught up in intertwined leashes with cute girls and their dogs. Those are free coffees with no interesting people to share them with. It’s different with Keith, Despite him being glued to his phone as they wait for the waitress to bring their cappuccinos. Maybe it’s the essence of mystery, different from the soft women and men walking their purebred dogs around the park in order to impress their potential future spouse. Something Keith clearly isn’t trying to do.

Shiro knows to take his small victory when Keith puts his phone down as the coffee cups are set on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, “a friend of mine needs help with a project.”

“Lance?” Shiro asks, because the photographer is the only other art friend Shiro knows of.

Keith huffs. “Like he’d ever ask me for help. It was Allura.”

The model girlfriend then, the beauty of the billboards with white hair in waves. ‘All natural beauty’ every cover with her interviews scream, because it’s hard to believe white hair comes naturally. It’s a stress thing, Shiro knows with the small strands of white he plucks out of his black tuft every morning. Hopefully Allura doesn’t feel the same amount or more to maintain her beauty.

“I know we agreed to meet up on Wednesday, but Lance keeps asking to hang out then. Would you mind joining us?”

“Sure.” Shiro shrugs.

“Great,” Keith smiles, “Don’t worry, it’ll just be the cafe again. And they’re good company, won’t bore you for a second.”

Shiro nods. They part there, with lingering touch of their embrace. Tomorrow at the cafe he can do. It'll leave the night to ponder about ruined chances and perhaps a ruined job and other opportunities as well. 

Two months of a job is more than he's ever had. It's been two amazing months as well, with each conflicting find more frustrating but rewarding in every way Keith brings comfort. 

Tomorrow will be just the cafe, he tells himself. After that, it's back to a dead end in the road.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, around noon, Shiro takes his car out to the city. Pacman sits on the back seat. The corgi always loves to go on rides. His paws are placed against the door, and Shiro is convinced that if he were to open the window, the dog would let his head out to get all the fresh air possible. He parks close the greener area of the town, back to the park by the police station. 

The dog walks along, legs doing their best to keep up. The grass is wet with morning rain, the shell path mixed with traces of mud. The path crispers underneath them. 

Paxman always enjoys his time in the park, chasing after doves or squirrels. Usually without success. But perhaps he also likes it for the attention. For the dozens of people who can't help to 'ahw' at him whenever Shiro takes him along a morning jog.

But if Pacman expects to get a nice jog, he's mistaken. Ten minutes after arriving, Shiro notices Keith's familiar black jacket and white t-shirt at the park gates. Keith lifts up an arm in greeting and walks closer. 

"Hey," Keith greets, "thought we'd meet at the cafe."

"Had to walk this boy first. Meet Pacman.” Shiro says, loosening his grip on the leash so that the dog can get closer to Keith. It takes two sniffs at Keith’s extended hand, before turning around and hiding behind Shiro’s leg. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro frowns, “normally he isn’t like this.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I was ever meant to get along with pets.” Keith smiles softly. 

“Do I want to know why?” Shiro frowns. 

“Are you familiar with those songs about kids being forced to eat their pet bunnies on Christmas?”

Shiro shakes his head.

“Maybe for the better.” Keith shrugs, “All I can say is that I get it when pets don’t want interact with me.”

Shiro crouches down and slowly scratches Pacman behind his ear. The dog whines softly, before it eventually gives up the fight and rolls onto its back. Its paws barely reach reach up to the sky. For a moment, it seems to forget the dog jacket makes it hard to get a decent belly rub. 

“Come on,” Keith says, holding up his phone, “we’re going to be late with that adorable dog of yours.”

Shiro nods and while Pacman would like to disagree, he follows wherever his owner and leash will take him. 

**…**

Allura is already there when they arrive, along with a man, both happily chatting over a cup of coffee. The model is more beautiful than in the picture. Her long white hair is tied back into a ponytail, a soft pink jumpsuit stands out against her dark skin. 

“Hey Allura,” Keith waves as he joins them at the table, “sorry we’re late. Shiro’s dog demanded cuddles.”

It is then that Allura turns around and looks at Shiro with bright blue eyes, before immediately casting her gaze downwards to Pacman.

“A lovely dog. What’s his name?” She smiles. 

“Pacman,” Shiro says, as he too gets a chair and ties Pacman’s leash around it. There the dog immediately finds comfort with Allura, who showers him in cuddles and ear scratches. Within seconds, Pacman is down to the ground again.

“We did not get introduced properly yet.” Allura says. “I am Allura, and this is my fiancé Lance.”

The man, Lance, looks up from a conversation with Keith at the mention of his name. “Hey,” he says with a few found energy. “I always wondered what kind of person Keith would show up with. I like the muscles.”

“Thanks.” Shiro says, waiting for Lance to pick up his conversation with Keith again. But the man never does. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Lance says, scooting his chair closer, “but where did you get that scar?”

Shiro looks away, and traces his arm with his other hand. The slash across his nose burns. “An accident.” He says.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Lance says when he sees the pained expression on Shiro’s face.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, and tries to fake a smile, it doesn’t lessen the burning of the scars. “I don’t remember much of what happened.” Not much more than the dark shadows in his family house, and the blood against the walls. “It just wasn’t very pleasant.”

“Yeah, no I get that, man. Sorry for asking.”

Shiro smiles and strokes the top of Pacman’s head. The dog barks softly at him and leans into the touch.

“It wasn’t that bad. Made it hard to get into the police but I’m happy with my own business now.”

“Let me guess, supplies deliverer?” Lance winks.

“Investigator.” Shiro corrects him.

“He helps me with the entire murder thing.” Keith adds. “He does a good job.”

“What about you? You’re a photographer, right? World press?” Shiro asks.

“Nah,” Lance waves his hand, “more like Vogue. I like shooting fashion.”

“And me.” Allura chimes in.

“You  _ are  _ fashion.” Lance smiles.

“So you and Keith are friends?” Shiro asks.

“We met last year on a charity gala.” Lance says, looking over at Keith. “Never would expect such a mullet behind Allura’s favorite art.”

“We plan on commissioning him for a personal piece later, once we’ve figured out everything for our wedding.” Allura says, as her engagement ring shines in the autumn sunlight.

She leans closer to Shiro and whispers, “Don’t tell Lance yet, but I want it to be a statue of him.”

She smiles and leans back in her chair, looking back at Lance. They’re a happy couple, celebrities who know what they have with each other. And with a model of Allura’s class, Lance must be a lucky guy.

“What about you and Keith?” Allura smiles. “How long have you been together?”

Shiro almost chokes on his coffee.

“M-me and Keith?” He sputters. “No, we- we aren’t anything like that.”

“Oh.” She says. “I’m sorry, I just assumed. You two look close and Keith never lets others get close to him this way.”

“It’s fine.” Shiro smiles and looks over at Keith. He can’t deny he hasn’t seen those dark strands of hair in his dreams before. Or tried to remember Keith’s voice in the dead of night. He surely has, but none of it has them together in the future. The case will end eventually. Shiro hopes it does, not for himself, but for Keith whose names shouldn’t be tainted like this any longer.

It is right there that Shiro knows he’s used up all his chances to carry a normal conversation with the celebrity duo. Though there can’t be many worse topics than suppressed trauma and crushes. Keith enjoys himself however, so does Pacman whenever Lance slips him some food. And so, Shiro tries to make the best of it as well.

**…**

It is late when they call it a day and Lance and Allura go back to their house. Keith offers to take Shiro back home, a difficult promise when Keith has his bike and Shiro takes Pacman in his car. In the end, Shiro has to watch Keith’s bike following him in the rear mirror.They manage to stay together the entire ride, not a single red light capable of keeping Keith away.

When Shiro gets home, he doesn’t think twice about letting Keith inside. Keith lets himself sink into Shiro’s couch with ease. Shiro offers to make some quick dinner, but Keith refuses, insisting he’ll have to leave soon anyways and drive through pizza will do just fine for dinner. They settle on a cold beer instead, along with whatever is on tv to be their background noise.

“You sure have interesting friends.” Shiro says, ignoring the off key singing of the talent show that’s playing.

Keith humms. “Not what I expected to hang out with when I was younger.”

“Allura thought we were together.” Shiro decides to drop, waiting for the way Keith will respond.

“And?” Keith asks.

“I told her we aren’t.” Shiro says.

“Would you want to?” Keith leans forward, his hands trailing the metal of Shiro’s arm.

Keith is beautiful. Shiro can’t say it hasn’t been a dream since the moment he’s heard of Keith’s name in the streets, or saw his face in the news. Followed by his face in real life. So sure, Shiro would love to keep Keith closer, explore more of him. But they can’t, they shouldn’t. Yet the warmth of Keith’s lips stays on his lips. 

“You’re a client.” Shiro says hesitantly when he pulls away, “we shouldn’t.”

“You don’t want this?” Keith frowns. The pout on his face is the cutest and most devastating thing Shiro has ever seen.

“I do.” Shiro whispers. “but I’m not sure if you should date the person trying to solve your murder case.”

“I pay you to help, not to stay. That’s all up to you.” Keith’s fingers are soft when they reach out for Shiro’s. His breath is hot up close, there’s little to doubt about when it comes to this moment, when they’re already far from the normal business relationship.

“I want to help, and stay right here.” He whispers, and locks his hand in Keith’s. “Perhaps we could forget the business side of it all.”

“Am I getting a free service?” Keith grins.

“Maybe, if you pay my bills next time.”

“We’ll solve that problem once you move in with me.”

“Date first.” Shiro laughs. He doesn’t expect the kiss coming after he says the words, but can’t find the air in his lungs to complain. Keith doesn’t stop at a quick peck, his heat spreading across Shiro’s lips. he doesn’t want Keith to let go.

“What happened to that date?” Shiro says when Keith leaves his lips alone for a short moment of breath.

“Just in case this ends up being a dream, I want to know what it feels like.”

“I hope it’s real. I would love an official coffee date.”

“Next Tuesday?” Keith asks. “I’ve got some projects coming up, but after that, it can be you, me, some drinks and no murder statues to disturb us.”

“That’s Halloween, isn’t it?” 

Keith nods.

“Fuck,” Shiro groans, “Matt probably has booked me for some college party that day.”

“I’ll have to miss out on your amazing Halloween costume.” Keith pouts.

“It isn’t special.” Shiro laughs, “I might as well take out my old Luigi costume and dress Pacman up as a ghost.”

“Cute. I might just go find you to see the hottest underappreciated brother in town.”

“Maybe those students will let join the worst ghost adventure of the year.”

“With you leading it? It can never be a bad experience.”

“And if you decide I’m not worthy of your case anymore.”

“Then you’re still worth of that date.”

A soft ‘ding’ from Keith’s phone pulls them apart again. Keith curses underneath his breath and lays the phone down. “I forgot I need to submit some outlines for a client before morning. I should really head back home.”

“See you soon?” Shiro asks.

“You’ve got my numbers for any case updates, or personal ones.” Keith smiles. When he leaves the couch, Shiro unconsciously moves over to the empty spot, taking in its warmth a little longer. Pacman ignores the scratches he gets from Keith, pretending to be asleep a little longer. 

With a quick kiss, Keith leaves the house. When the door slides shut, and the sound of Keith’s bike has left the street, Shiro isn’t sure anymore if anything of the night was ever real.


	4. Chapter 4

October is always a busy month for Shiro. It’s better than the crying stories about dead family members, but it’s no actual investigation or conversation with the dead either. Most of the time, it’s college students who celebrate a month long of Halloween parties. There’s fun in doing sleepovers in haunted houses, but they’re more enjoyable when someone acts like there’s actually something there. 

Sometimes the houses are empty. The ghosts seem to know it’s time to get a moment of fame, and when to immediately run from it. Shiro would do anything for that silence on a normal day, but in the booming of business, he curses every spirit, ghost and demon he can think of. 

He could say he’s not one to do party jobs, but investigating doesn’t earn much. Especially when the tracks are dead for weeks. In the normal world, there’s no payment until the job is done, but at least sororities pay enough for the promise of a good scare once a year.

Halloween could be worse, if there wasn’t a chance he could be hanging out with Keith on the same day. Instead, he wears an old Luigi costume, once forced upon him by Matt. The green has faded to a shade of gray, barely noticeable under the yellow street lanterns. Pacman runs behind him, covered under a white sheet with black circles around his eyes. He might be the cutest ghost of the city.

The destination today is an abandoned mansion at the outskirts. Stories travel about the ghost from the 19th century, waiting for her man lost at sea. Nothing but a simple story, Shiro knows, especially with the nearest sea more than a 10 hour drive away. He’s been to the house numerous times, multiple Halloweens in a row. He knows the creaks of the house, which floorboards will give out, which mirrors are stained with fungi in the shape of the face. But the house is empty, silent from ghosts. The only whispers are of fear from unexpecting guests, wandering through its hall.

Matt already waits at the gates of the house, leaning against the iron fence as he scrolls through his phone. The group of university students has already gathered in front of the house, decorated in a mix of casual outfits, demon horn headbands and sexy nun costumes.

The group of students splits up seconds after Shiro’s arrival. Most of them are on the ground, surrounding Pacman in a wave of affection. The white sheet draped across the dog slowly slides off under the numerous hands. 

The significant smaller half of students are the ones enthusiastically walking to the ruin of the house. Matt waits at the front gate, a grin running all across his face. If it were any other day, the old house wouldn’t have caught Shiro’s immediate attention. But under the light of a full moon, in the company of semi-drunk laughing students, the house feels wrong.

“Don’t forget,” Matt says as he pushes the gate open, “it’s good money. Don’t fuck this up. Alright!” He turns to the crowd, “Shiro and his lovely dog over here will be your guide tonight.”

It is only the mention of Pacman that gets the girls going. Shiro wonders if they even know what they’re getting themselves into, or if the short brown legs under the costumes are what drives them forward in a trance. Those that get their eyes off the dog, cling to the arm of their male companions as they get to the house. 

As fake as the story is, Shiro remembers himself to repeat it anyways. The woman in blue, painting her house in each color of the sea while her husband is gone. Each breaking pipe, flooding sink and crazy rainstorms whenever he isn’t home. As if the sea is chasing her, deep landinwards. When the news comes that the man’s ship has sunk months ago, her world breaks even more. The blue is painted over with black, a mirror of the darkness of the sea. The wet mud of the garden is dragged inside, showing the bottom her husband is trapped in. All until she drowned herself in puddle of rain.

But they’re nothing but stories. As much as the gasps of horror arise when they pass the deep puddles in front of the house, none of it seems true. Surely, the peeling paint on the walls is a mix of blue and black, and the floor is rotting from the stacks of mud in the hallways. But the house is old and abandoned. All traces of the haunt are natural consequences of a house without owner. Whatever woman is supposed to haunt it with soggy footsteps, has long passed on.

“Do you hear that?” Shiro asks the group, placing his foot on a loose floorboard. The creak is softer than it was last year, the mud underneath it finally killing the acoustic. It’s still good enough. One of the girls starts screaming about a shadow in the window.

“I can feel her.” Shiro says, and as if Pacman understands him, the dog barks along. All there is to feel is the cold air of the autumn night. The walls give out to multiple holes, letting drafts creep in. And the living room is the heart of it all, where the top of the fireplace collapsed three years ago. The wind sings through the stones, echoing the screams of a woman who doesn’t exist. 

A rat walks across the dining table, Pacman turns himself into a monster of the lagoon instead of a ghost with the amount of moss that sticks to his costume, and Shiro repeats the same tricks and stories he has every year. At least none of this group have had the tour before. It gets more and more difficult to keep the story sound interesting. Especially when there are much worse things on his mind.

The entire tour is a daze until there is a creak that isn’t supposed to sound yet, a shadow in a far window that isn’t supposed to move. Pacman growls at the darkness, the fur on his face and neck standing up. The ghost costume partially slides off as he gets to a defensive stance on his legs. Meanwhile, Shiro doesn’t feel what’s wrong. Yes, the room seems colder, but it might as well be the draft from the living room. There are no whispers, and the footsteps are too strong to be from a ghost.

“It’s her, she’s coming for us.” A girl screams, so loud Shiro wants to slam her mouth shut. He doesn’t have to, a different student beats him to it. For a moment, Shiro wonders if it’s Matt, teasing him on the job like in the old days. But the person is too short to be Matt, too careful in their steps. Instead, they stand there in the hallway, looking out of the window, like no one else is there.

“It looks like it’s going to rain tonight.” The person says, and then it dawns on Shiro. This isn’t a ghost or a stranger. The shadow makes place for Keith, dressed in even more leather and black than usual. “Hey.” He says, with a single hand up in the air as a greeting. Almost as if he doesn’t have a full hallway of young adults trembling in fear. “Didn’t expect to see you here… or all your friends.”

“I told you I had a job today.”

Keith hums, “Didn’t expect you to be wandering into places like this though. It’s dead here.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“No, I mean-” In a quick second Shiro sprints to Keith and puts his hand over Keith’s mouth. 

“Let me introduce you guys to Keith,” he smiles at the students. “My other partner.”

A number of girls poke each other with whispers of ‘I told you so’, combined with sighs of defeat from the other side. Shiro does his best to ignore them. Keith waves at the group.

“So, are you joining the ghost hunt or did this ruin call you for other reasons?” Shiro asks, his voice a whisper to make sure the students can’t hear him.

“As much as I’d wish to say I’d call you my other reason, I thought you would go for a more exciting place than this. I would have brought that Mario costume if I knew.”

“The best haunting to show around here.” Shiro shrugs, before stopping in his tracks to point out another draft and creaking floor to the students. The house has lost all its magic now that Keith has shown up. it feels as abandoned as it actually is. The fact that near the end of the tour, someone takes out the beer and starts passing it around, is a clear sign of that.

So it’s a blessing when they get out, and the group runs of after having a laugh together. The streets are so much nicer filled with a number of kids and teenagers finishing up on their night of trick and treat. 

“Will you stay?” Shiro asks, but Keith shakes his head.

“I didn’t expect to walk into you tonight, but I can walk you home.” Keith offers. Shiro nods and lets Keith guide him home.

**…**

Keith leaves before the clock reaches midnight. There is a soft goodnight kiss between them, nothing else. Keith can’t be persuaded to stay, and with the sound of his motorcycle in the streets, Shiro heads to bed, exhausted. 

He wakes up with a startle later, which in itself is nothing new. What is new, is the silence surrounding him in his room, as well as the barking of Pacman on the ground floor. It doesn’t match up. Maybe Pacman barks at loud students walking up to the front door in a drunk haze, but the spirits are never silent. He can feel the eyes tracking him, but they don’t dare to whisper in the same air he breathes. In the background, Pacman’s paws scratch at the door to the hallway. A night walk through the city might be a good idea, get some fresh air before the morning hits the sky again. Check out the last remnants of the Halloween night.

He changes into sweatpants and a clean shirt before heading down. It’s a little over 3am when he leaves his room. Pacman hasn’t calmed down yet, barking into the hallway every few minutes.

When he opens the door to the living room, Pacman rushes past his legs and runs up the stairs, not looking back. The lights in the room are off, but in the light of the moon he can make out a silhouette. With one step inside the room, he can see a demon look at him with a dozen eyes, and a thousand screams join him.


	5. Chapter 5

A demon stands in the middle of the room, wings frozen, eyes unmoving. In a reflex, Shiro reaches out to the light switch. The moment the ceiling lamp flickers on, the screaming stops and the demon gets frozen in white stone.

Plaster, Shiro realizes. A demon made of plaster is standing in the middle of his living room. At least the screaming is silent in the artificial light, but Shiro doubts it’s a good thing. He needs a voice to tell him he’s not going crazy. That maybe it’s just a bad dream or his sleep deprivation is finally catching up on him. He doesn’t know he’s calling Keith until he hears the man’s voice coming from his phone.

“ _ Shiro? _ ” Keith asks, “ _ what time is it? Fuck… _ ” Shiro can hear the rustling of sheets though the speaker. Why did he even wake him up? “ _ Shiro, are you okay? _ ”

Shiro knows he isn’t. The amount of effort it takes to lift his phone up to his ear is a bigger workout than he’s had to do in years. It beats every workout for the police exams.

“Yeah, I’m-” He shakes his head. “Could you maybe come over here. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“ _ What’s going on? _ ” Keith asks, more sheets ruffle, soft footsteps run through a room, Keith’s bedroom, Shiro guesses. 

“There’s a… statue.” Shiro sighs. “He got in my  _ house _ , Keith. I only figured out because Pacman woke me up.”

“ _Are you alone?_ ” Shiro hums in response, making Keith let out a relieved sigh, “ _Maybe cuddle your dog until I get there. I’ll be there in 20._ ”

“Thanks.” Shiro whispers before he hears Keith hang up. He doesn’t go upstairs. He doesn’t take his eyes of the statue until his doorbell rings. Pacman joins him for the last few minutes, before he rushes upstairs again when Keith gets to the house.

Each car passing by brings along another layer of anxiety. One might stop and peek inside the house, seeing the figure of the statue through the light behind the closed curtains. The sound of Keith’s motorcycle and the footsteps of heavy boots through the dry leaves outside should calm him, but it’s still with shaking hands that Shiro unlocks the door. He only turns his back to the living room for a few seconds. The moment Keith’s boots touch the doormat, Shiro closes the door without a sound and turns his eyes back to the statue. It’s still there, hasn’t moved a bit.

“Fuck.” Keith whispers, repeating the word with every step he takes towards the living. “How did this even get in here.”

“I don’t want to know.” Shiro shakes his head. The idea of a murderer, walking around without a care and disappearing before the dog could wake him up, is terrifying. 

“Stupid question, I know.” Keith sighs. “Are you okay?”

“I think so?” Shiro shakes his head. “It hasn’t all sunken in yet.”

Because how can it? There should be no way a murderer would try to go after him. They’re still on dead leads, with no idea who could cause the appearance of statues across the city. So why scare them away now, at the brink of giving up on the case.

We need to call the cops.” Shiro says, trying to stop himself from going back to hyperventilating again. “This place is a crime scene.”

“We don’t have to.” Keith says, walking to the statue and running his hand across the smooth plaster. “Did you try talking to them?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “They were so loud earlier, I turned on the lights immediately.”

“It’s just a statue.” Keith knocks against the demon’s arm, ignoring the hollow sound and the fact there is probably a body inside. “They can’t harm you.”

They can’t, but they’re too loud. Even in the light Shiro can almost hear them talk. So many distorted voices, like there’s more than one person stuck inside the statue. But there can’t be. Everyone watching the news knows the bodies are in one piece in the plaster, and the demon is too thin to contain more than person inside.

“I’m here, Shiro.” Keith tells him, and despite it seeming an unnecessary reassurance, Shiro doesn’t want him to go anywhere else. “The spirits can’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Shiro nods hesitantly. He’ll be fine. He has always been. The nightmares are a thing he can deal with, even if it ends with spending the night in a fully lit living room with the TV as loud as he can before his neighbors will complain. 

Keith is the one to switch of the lights. bringing the room back to its moonlit form. Shiro closes his eyes to prepare himself for the overwhelming voices. 

They never come. 

The demon is quiet, its voices dimmed to a whisper, almost nonexistent. He can't make out the words, only the apologetic tone of the voice. 

"What are you sorry for?" Shiro asks, but the demon doesn't answer. The spirit keeps rambling to itself, repeating words at an even quicker pace. 

Keith frowns, "What does it say? Can it tell us who the killer is?" 

Shiro shakes his head. "It doesn't want to talk to me. I doubt it knows what's going on." 

"So what? We finally get to talk to a ghost and it ignores us?" 

"It might not know we're here. It's a one way street after all." 

Keith huffs and crosses his arms. "So we call the cops and say this entire investigation was hopeless from the start?" 

Shiro looks at the statue and sighs. "We wait until the morning, maybe it changes its mind."

**…**

The police arrive ten minutes after Shiro makes the call. Sirens fill the street, waking up the neighbors from their morning slumber. 

Keith and Shiro sit in the living room, leaving the front door ajar so neither of them have to get up to let the cops in. The only moment they got up from their makeshift blanket fort, was to call the cops over. In the few hours they’ve waited, the statue hasn’t said a word. With the morning light, now creeping through the peek in the curtains, they know an answer isn’t going to come today.

Soon, the living room is crowded with people. The house and street are blocked off with yellow tape, pictures are taken of everything, and the high amount of questions breaks the silence of the night. Shiro isn’t sure if he hates the presence from the cops more, or just the head detective himself.

“So you found the body, and didn’t call us?” Detective Holt sighs, as he looks from Shiro, to the statue, to Keith who has moved himself to the kitchen for now. “We know you want to fix this on your own, but this isn’t your case.”

“It is. I’m hired to find whoever is hurting Keith.” Shiro says.

“Did you ever think about it being Keith who is hurting  _ you _ ?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I called Keith here when I found that statue. He’s the one who kept me calm and save during the night. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

The detective sighs. “Don’t let yourself be blinded here. Keith is still a suspect in this case.”

“It isn’t him.” Shiro says, “He isn’t the kind of person to harm anyone.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks. Shiro doesn’t know the answer. Sure, he can say Keith is there every night when Shiro can’t fall asleep, that he knows the way Keith smiles softly when the waitress leaves him an extra cookie when he orders coffee, or that he has a weak point for kittens. In the end, those points don’t change the cops’ view on Keith. To them, he’s nothing more than a lonely artist with a hatred to humanity. To them, Keith could have commited a murder, built a statue, sneaked into Shiro’s house and out of it again. All in one night. The lack of logic doesn’t seem to bother any of them.

“I trust him.” Is all Shiro can answer, because in the end, it’s all there is to say.

Sam sighs, clicks his pen off and and puts it back inside his jacket. “We’ll still want to talk with you at the station.” He says, and looks over his shoulder to Keith. “Alone.”

Shiro nods. He walks back to Keith, who looks up from staring to the police moving the statue away when he hears Shiro approach.

“You okay?” Keith frowns.

“They want me to come with them for some extra questioning.”

“Want me to come with you?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’ll have to go alone. But could you maybe watch Pacman in the meantime? Normally I’d ask Matt, but seeing you’re already here and these guys don’t seem patient enough to wait another hour for him to arrive…”

“It’s okay, Shiro.” Keith says. “I can watch him for a while. Even if we don’t like each other, I can do that much for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll make it up to you later.” Shiro smiles, presses a quick kiss on Keith’s cheek and walks back to Holt. The statue is out of sight, loaded in the back of the police fan, only markers on the ground and a number of agents checking the house remain. The ride to the police station is long and silent, the upcoming questions only hurt more.

**...**

He gets out of the station two hours and a bad headache later. Detective Holt knows how to drag out an interrogation, based on no information at all. It’s a blessing to see Keith’s name appear on his lockscreen, with a text attached to it.

_ ‘I had to take Pacman out of the house, we weren’t allowed to stay inside. Meet me at the central park? Usual spot. _ ’ it reads. It’s a better idea than to take a taxi home. After all the questioning, cuddling his dog, and laying his head on Keith’s shoulder are things that can’t wait any longer.

He doesn’t have to search long to find them. Keith has claimed the bench in front of the pond, Pacman has found his residence underneath it. The dog wags its tail at Shiro’s approach and wrestles itself free from Keith’s hold on the leash. Keith looks up, and lays the sketchbook he’s been working in, down. 

“He missed you.” Keith smiles when Pacman jumps in Shiro’s open arms. “I missed you too. How did it go?” Keith gives him a quick kiss and leads Shiro back to the bench again.

“Not much different than at the house. They have no idea what happened tonight, there are no traces of a break-in.”

“So we’re back to nothing again.” Keith sighs.

“It feels hopeless now,” Shiro buries his head in his hands, “I feel like I’m the wrong person for you to hire. We actually had a statue, and we didn’t learn anything. You need someone who can actually talk to ghosts, instead of listen to their echos.”

“I don’t want to hire anyone else.” Keith smiles. He removes Shiro’s hands from his face and cups Shiro’s cheek. “We can figure this out, Shiro.”

Shiro sighs. Keith is right. 

“What were you drawing?” He asks. Keith picks up the and browses through the pages. Then, he closes it and put it away in his bag.

“Getting some inspiration for a new project.” Keith says, “But I want to keep it a secret for you. I want it to be special.”

“Fine.” Shiro mumbles and lays his hand on Pacman’s back. 

“I’m a sculptor anyways, my sketches aren’t good enough for a man like you.”

“I would still love to see them.” 

“Maybe one day.” Keith smiles and gives Shiro a quick kiss. 

**...**

They both come to the conclusion that it isn’t worth going back to the house while the police are crowding it. So they take Pacman for a long walk, and watch the pigeons terrorize unexpecting passersby. They spend most of the afternoon in the park that way, followed by dinner at snackbar where Pacman can join them at their table. Keith brings them back home afterwards. 

When Shiro goes to bed that night, it’s the interrogation that comes back to him. The statue is a lost cause, that much is clear, as well as the lacking evidence around Shiro’s home. It’s the same as with every other crime scene. That isn’t the part that bothers him. It wasn’t the main part of the interrogation after all. That was a lot more personal.

_ “Is he still just a client to you?” Holt had asked him over a cup of coffee in an empty room.  _

_ Shiro averted his eyes.  _

_ “This isn’t another dead grandma you’re dealing with, Shiro.” The detective sighed. “Do you know what your close relationship to a client like Kogane gets you?” He leans forward on the table. “You’re making yourself as suspicious as him. Keep your distance.” _

But what does detective Holt know? He doesn’t know Keith like Shiro does, or the way his art forms in his hands. Shiro lays back in his bed, watching the shadows dance around the ceiling. He doesn’t sleep that night, keeps the lights turned off. Every second, he listens to the whispers of the room, telling him they’re sorry.


	6. Chapter 6

The living room doesn’t feel the same the next morning. The statue is gone, but the emptiness still feels the same. The floor seems darker in that space, a shadow tainting his house forever. Keith calls him over breakfast to ask if Shiro’s okay. Of course he isn’t. Keith doesn’t need to ask, but it’s the gesture that counts. Keith offers to go for a walk later, when the worst commotion has flown over. 

Shiro takes the opportunity with open arms, and leaves the house hours before he and Keith have agreed upon meeting. Pacman’s little legs trot against the pavement, more than happy to also leave the house again. Perhaps moving places would be a good idea. Many could see him as an idiot for exchanging a house in the suburbs for whatever wreck the current market would give him for it. But leaving everything behind seems nice. Change everything and start over. Once more.

But when he sees Keith again, that idea seems to fade away to the background. Just for Keith, just to clear his name and be able to stay together just a bit longer, Shiro would gladly face the dangers that chase him. Pacman seems happier than ever to go on walk, running far ahead with an occasional look back to check on his owner.

They stay out for the entire day, talking, laughing, and sharing concerns. Dinner is on Keith, who takes Shiro to one of the most beautiful restaurants. In the low light of the dining room, where nothing can be seen except for the table and the soft features of Keith’s face. Even if the food is delicious, Shiro’s eyes are barely focused on the table that night. They skip out on desert, and settle for a quick ride to Shiro’s house instead.

Pacman protests when Shiro leaves him downstairs and takes Keith with him to the bedroom. Shiro ignores the soft whines as he kisses Keith. They reach the bed right in time, clothing lost in a trail through the stairs and hallway.

Keith is beautiful in the low light, and as they’re together, the outside world is forgotten. Every touch is new, skin unexplored and in need to be mapped out. Shiro notes to know it all by heart some day. Each birthmark and each scar lays under his fingers. Each sound is one to remember, and Shiro only wants to hear more. It’s awkward, but Shiro wouldn’t want it any other way. This is all he’s ever asked for.

Afterwards, he gets to look at Keith’s sleeping face in the warmth of their bliss. He pulls Keith closer and breathes in his scent. It’s strong and dark, like the burning of wood. Within seconds, he too falls asleep.

**…**

Morning comes too quick that day. Keith is already awake when Shiro wakes, even if the sun hasn’t fully risen yet. He finds Keith downstairs, drinking coffee while in a staredown with Pacman. It is hard to see who loses the battle, when both his dog and boyfriend look up the moment Shiro steps into the room.

“You looked so peaceful in your sleep.” Keith smiles as he grabs a cup for Shiro and pours him some coffee. It’s strong coffee. Shiro doesn’t have to taste it to know.Still, he drinks it. If it’s made by Keith, no matter how strong it is, he’ll drink it.

“I should have you in my bed more often. You seem to keep the voices away.” Shiro says. There hasn’t been a single whisper since he’s come home and woken up. It’s never been so silent.

“Aren’t you glad the ghosts give you your time alone?” Keith grins.

Shiro laughs. “I am. Just wish they wouldn’t just do this when you’re here.”

“Maybe they’ll figure it out eventually. You can’t always be their willing listening ear.”

“You learn to live with it.” Shiro says, although he isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince. Years after getting this “gift”, he still isn’t used to the ways the voices will come to him at night. He’d rather get his arm back than spend another day talking to the dead.

“Will you stay today?” Shiro asks, but Keith shakes his head.

“I have an art gallery to open today. It seems Lance cancelled on them.”

“So they come to you instead of another photographer?”

Keith shrugs. “Guess I’m the best second option. I don’t mind much.”

Shiro nods softly. It is of course part of the life Keith has chosen for himself. One of fame, spotlight, and openings of galleries.

“I’ll see you again soon though.”

“I’m not gone yet.” Keith smiles, takes Shiro’s mug from his hands and places it on the counter. “All morning, I’ll be yours.”

He kisses Shiro, and under the judging eye of Pacman, the night repeats itself all over again.

**…**

Keith leaves after lunch, taking a taxi back to his house before heading to the event. Somewhere on the deepest parts of the internet, someone has put up a livestream of the event. Not invited and without a presence in the art world, Shiro has no other option than to watch from his desk when Keith holds a quick speech about the beauty of every art aspect. Be it sculpting, photography or painting.

The entire opening takes ten minutes. At least, that’s the amount of time Keith is in view. Shiro’s never one for the large art sections. Sure, it’s pretty, and dating an artist would mean he has to get more involved in the world.

Once the opening is over, Shiro decides to leave it for what it is, and shuts off his computer. An hour later, after a quick jog with Pacman, Shiro hears his phone ring.

He guesses it’s Keith, talking about how boring the gallery has been. But instead, it’s an unknown number with a simple message: ‘ _ stay away from Keith _ ’.

‘ _ Who is this _ ?’ Shiro texts back in what seems to be a reflex. Whoever is playing with him probably doesn’t wish to answer that, or at least not back away, but in that moment, it seems like a fine decision to his sleep deprived mind.

‘ _ Just someone who wants the best for you _ ’, the reply comes within seconds,  _ ‘nothing good will come from him’ _ . 

Jealousy, Shiro concludes. Just a weird enemy of Keith’s who somehow got Shiro’s number. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen. 

_ ‘I can take care of myself. Stay away from me and Keith _ ’, Shiro texts back. The number doesn’t reply again that day. In the passing hours, Shiro mostly forgets about the text, as he plays with Pacman and spends a few hours on the phone with Keith when the man has returned home, the silence in his own house too deafening. 

He ignores the text of that afternoon, until, five minutes after Shiro hangs up after two exchanges of ‘I love you’s with Keith that his phone buzzes with a new one. The same unknown number, but no longer with the same threat. 

‘ _ Don’t worry, it’s been dealt with _ ’. 

Shiro doesn’t get the chance to text Keith if he’s okay. The man is already calling him.

“Keith, are you okay?”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Keith says, his breathing rapid, “ _ did you hear? _ ”

“Hear what?” Shiro asks. 

“ _ Allura just called me. Lance is dead. _ ”

**…**

It’s all over the news that evening. Lance, award winning photographer, and fiancé of the city’s top model, was found dead in his apartment, his body cast in plaster. Allura had been the one to find him in their bedroom after he didn’t come down for dinner. While watching the news, Shiro underlines the words ‘personal grudge’ on his case notes. The first target was only Keith’s reputation, and now it’s his friends. His eyes drift to the carpet. The statue in his living room had been a warning for all of this. Shiro wants to say he’s glad he or Pacman didn’t get killed that night, but it isn’t any better to have anyone else die in his place. Keith doesn’t answer his phone for days, stuck between interviews and interrogations, although the line between the two is thin. 

Shiro tries to busy himself with more work, more sidejobs for desperate people, and digging in archives he didn’t know existed. With the bare minimum, he tries to puzzle Keith’s life together, because if Keith isn’t available to help solve the case, then all there is too do is to fight his own dooming death alone.

But even with as much research as possible, Keith is a mystery. And like he’s already said so many time himself, he has no family, no friends. Definitely not with Lance’s death still haunting the city.

Days pass, and Lance is buried in the presence of his friends and family. The coffin is closed, although his body seemingly came out of the statue in one piece. Keith invites Shiro as his support during the funeral. For a moment Shiro wishes he didn’t accept. Allura is in tears as she tries to read an eulogy. For all the amazing things Lance has on his name, she seems to remember him mostly as a vacation love from Cuba, from where they both built up their careers. Now, the model has cancelled all her plans for the next few months, clearly lost.

Tears are shed through the entire day. Lance’s family is massive, all of them flown over from Cuba to watch their son be dead. No one knows how it happened, and speculations are hard to make. For a second, Shiro thinks about finding a moment alone with the coffin and hope for a whisper of clarity from the fresh spirit. But the tears are too loud, and the family wants their time with Lance alone.

“I don’t want to be alone in my house.” Shiro sighs when the funeral is over and he’s back to his car. “I can’t shake the feeling that something will happen.

“If you want to, you could just stay at my place starting tomorrow.” Keith offers. “I doubt anyone would want to track you there.”

Shiro agrees without thinking. The drive back home feels safer knowing that tomorrow, he’ll be in good hands.


	7. Chapter 7

Matt agrees to watch Pacman while Shiro is with Keith. As much as Shiro would love to take the corgi with him, the relationship between dog and boyfriend is still tense. Hopefully it will change one day. With the dog under Matt’s care, the house locked and his bags packed, Shiro waits for Keith outside his house. He doesn’t get an address, but he does get Keith in a black Mercedes.

“I would have taken the bike, but I guessed this would be easier.” Keith says when he loads Shior’s bags in the trunk. Not that Shiro will complain. The car is brand new, the leather seats without a single sign of usage. Perhaps Keith really fancies his bike.

They drive all the way to the other part of the city, where flats and small houses make room for trees and gates to private properties. Keith stops at the end of the road at a black, metal fence. Behind it lays a mansion, Keith’s mansion, hidden in the woods. Its surroundings are low maintenance, nature taking over wherever it’s allowed.

Keith parks right at the front door, steps out and helps Shiro out as well. The door of dark wood is as unwelcoming as the gates, a last reminder for anyone with no business here to walk away.

“Welcome,” Keith says when he opens the front door and lets Shiro step inside.

The central hall of the mansion is filled with statues. One of them is the mother statue from the studio, except her lifeliness is even more present in this version, her gaze somber as she looks through the room. The sides of the stairs are flanked with people whose likeness Shiro doesn’t know. A trail of animals seems to walk up the stairs where Keith drops his bags.

They move to the kitchen then, knowing they’ll have enough time to settle in a bedroom later. Keith makes coffee and sets it on the table, almost collapsing into his chair after.

“And here we are.” Keith sighs. “I never take people home with me, especially not when a killer could be after them.”

“I would rather come to your house under different circumstances.” Shiro says.

“Sometimes I think it’s funny how we met through some weird serial killer.”

“It’s not that funny to me.” Shiro sighs. “We’re both in danger now.”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t think the killer will come to chase you here. Neither of us.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

Keith shrugs. “Call it a guess.” He takes a sip of his coffee and leans back in his chair. They have a perfect view over the back garden in from the kitchen. The tree branches sway softly with the breeze. When the coffee is finished and they’re done talking, Keith stands up and walks to the window. Shiro notices the camera placed in the windowsill which Keith picks up.

“Smile.” He tells Shiro, and Shiro does. “I want to make sure I have you on camera like this too. Just in case I lose you.”

Shiro’s smile falters with that. He looks back at his coffee, still dark but now cold in his hands.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t find them.” He says.

“But you did.” Keith sits back down again. “And I think you know you did.”

“There are no leads.”

“Aren’t there?” Keith frowns. There’s playfulness in his expression, one Shiro can’t fully place. He takes the camera and places it on the table, screen turned to Shiro.

“It was under your nose all this time, Shiro. You just need to watch the tapes.”

Shiro picks up the camera, and opens up the menu. A number of videos are lines up leading up the one he recognizes as himself in the kitchen. He presses play on the first one.

It starts with darkness. For a minute, there’s nothing, and only the rustling in the background convinces Shiro his video is still playing. Then, the camera moves, showing Keith in a loose t-shirt. His expression is dark, the smile across his face wide but emotionless.

_“The mold is ready, the plaster done.”_ Keith says as he picks up his camera and moves the image over to his workroom. A base of styrofoam stands tall. And right in front of it, lays a woman. _“Let’s make some art.”_ Keith whispers, and the screen turns black.

Unconsciously, Shiro starts the next video. The body is still there, now trapped upright with styrofoam and metal rods. Her arms are raised above her head in an image of praise. The dress she’s wearing is new, too white to have been worn before arriving at Keith’s workshop. 

The camera moves closer to her face, and Shiro can see she’s still alive. Her brow furrows, her eyes flutter. Eventually, she will wake up.

There is a soft humming the background. The camera is placed down again. Buckets of plaster are moved over the woman’s head, and Keith begins to work.

Even more plaster is used in the next video, covering the body layer by layer until there’s nothing but white. The woman wakes up once, right before the plaster streams down her nose. The gurgled sounds and terrified eyes are the worst. All of them erased in the next layers to come. In the end, after the finishing touches are done, all there is is a real life statue of an angel, arms spread out the heavens are her face calls out for a blessing.

Shiro knows he’s seen her before, right in the window of Keith’s shop. But the statue had never been alive. It was as silent as any piece of stone.

“It can’t be you.” Shiro says as he looks back up at Keith.

“Can’t it?” Keith asks, his expression unchanging. His fingers move the menu, and point at a video in the middle. When Shiro presses play, he sees his own house. The front door opens itself for Keith, and the camera is placed down in the living room. As he watches Keith leave and come back with a statue in his arms, he hears Pacman wake in the background. The panicked barking stops the moment Keith shares a look with the dog. Shiro has to watch as Pacman allows the statue, the corpse, be dragged inside his house.

_“You stay silent.”_ Keith whispers, stroking his victim’s statue. _“Don’t tell him about me, or hell will be the kindest thing to happen to you.”_ And with that, Keith picks up his camera again and cuts off the feed.

Once again, Shiro looks at Keith with confusion, desperate for an answer.

“Close the curtains, Shiro. Talk to all those statues.” Keith says. “They have their freedom to talk here.”

Shiro doesn’t need to close the curtains himself. With one press of a button, screens roll down the windows, basking the room in darkness. Keith doesn’t give him any time to prepare. As soon as the shadows fall over the statues, they talk. They scream. They cry. It’s a cacophony of sounds. Shiro doesn’t realize he begs them to stop until Keith places a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re not going to stop. They’ve been stuck in silence for so long.” Keith sighs. His fingers linger on Shiro’s shoulder, before he moves to the mother statue and traces her hair. 

‘ _Don’t let him touch me anymore_ ’, she begs, but her eyes are frozen in a kind gaze.

“She was a good mother, you know.” Keith says, tracing the cheeks of the woman, wiping away nonexistent tears. “It’s too bad she lost her son to something she could never control. But you know how that feels, don’t you?”

Shiro looks down at his arm, and traces the scars of where the demon once bit him. But it’s not just the arm Keith is referencing to. It’s everything he had as a young boy, and everything he has achieved now. All taken by those of different realms, with only a curse to make up for it. Shiro wishes he’d never have gotten the ability to talk to the dead. To stay ignorant about everything Keith had done, and just stay happy together.

“I want to show you one more.” Keith says, grabbing onto Shiro’s arm. Shiro lets him lead, resisting is futile now, stuck in a lion’s den.

Keith leads him through a number of hallways, each time passing more statues that beg him not to follow any longer. But Shiro’s feet are caught in a trance, staying close to Keith as they walk. Then a door opens to a wide atrium. In the center, bathing in light, sits Keith. Or the version of him without color. His expression is soft, almost softer than any afterbliss.

“He gets lonely.” Keith sighs. “He’s stopped talking a while ago.”

Shiro looks at Keith, then back to the statue. It’s silent, unusually so. 

“I think he misses his body. Or another soul to keep him company.” Keith says, removing a nonexist hair from his statue’s face. “It was an experiment to even see if a soul could be captured without his body to keep him locked up. I’d like to think it succeeded.”

“Who are you?” Shiro asks.

“I’m Keith.” Keith smiles. “Or do you not recognize your boyfriend anymore? I haven’t changed since we met, though some of _his_ manners were very useful to keep you close. It almost felt like I could be human.” Keith sighs. “But I never will be. I don’t want to.” 

“You aren’t him.”

“I am the one who hired you to solve my own murders. You’ve never met the real Keith Kogane. How would you know he is the one you’re looking for?”

“Keith would never kill anyone.”

“And yet he summoned me all those years ago. Tell me, Shiro, why would he call for me if not to deal with deep hatred to humanity.”

“That isn’t him.”

Keith, no, the demon humms. “He’s lonely. If you join him, he might tell you everything.”

The man walks closer, touches Shiro’s voice again, and gives him the softest touch on his cheek. “Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to love you too.” 

Shiro likes to think it’s truly Keith who kisses him there. He wishes it’s Keith’s eyes he sees when he feels himself dragged into a strange darkness. Maybe it’s Keith calling his name in the void.


	8. Chapter 8

When Shiro wakes again, it’s dark. He isn’t sure there’s a top or bottom to the darkness. He might as well be floating in it. He lets himself drift, in and out, hoping that someone will turn on the light and bring back the floor to him. He isn’t sure how much time has past. His watch seems to have stopped working. 

No one turns on the light. No one comes to visit him and explain what has happened. How Keith betrayed him like that. But it wasn’t Keith, those dark eyes were never Keith’s. The murders were done by a demon in his body.

Shiro tries to walk through the place, find a bearing in the surroundings and maybe a way out. There is none, he isn’t sure his feet get him forward. He can’t even hear his own steps, the silence echoing through his ears, making it impossible to even hear his own heartbeat and breathing.

Yet somehow, he manages to move forward. The darkness makes room for a purple and red glow and for the first time Shiro can see the reflection of the fake sky on the floor. There, right before a black moon, sits a man.

Keith.

The man sits on the floor, knees to his chest, staring into the void in front of him.When Shiro walks closer, Keith looks up. He doesn’t look like the guy who murdered dozens of innocent people before. Instead, he looks like the poor artist again, trying to fight things out of his control.

“You don’t have to be afraid.” Keith looks at him and smiles. “He isn’t here.”

“Who?” Shiro asks, but Keith shakes his head. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He says, and motions Shiro to follow. There is a hesitant move and an extended hand, one that doesn’t make the full move to take Shiro’s in his. Once again, they’re foreigners to each other. Worse than the first time Shiro stepped inside Keith’s shop, because back then they had been only strangers going to clients. Now, Shiro has to watch his boyfriend estrange himself, as if every sweet phone call was never real. Maybe they never were, after all, they were merely calls to follow up on personal murders.

Keith leads him further into the void, where the light doesn’t seem to reach again. There he sits down, because there’s nothing else to do.

“At least here I don’t have to look at them here.” Keith sighs, looking over at the last bits of red lighting. “I don’t have to watch what he does to you.”

“Who are you talking about.”

“I’m not who you think you are.” Keith says.

“You’re Keith.” Shiro says. “Who else would you be?”

“You fell in love with a demon wearing my body, what else is there to say?”

“What are you talking about?” Shiro frowns.

“It was never me who you met. My body has been possessed by Dantalion for a long time, creating art and setting up murders to get your attention. I’m sorry, Shiro.” Keith sighs. “It’s all my fault.”

“What did you do, Keith?” Shiro frowns.

Keith groans. “I hate that you can talk so soft to me. My body just lured you into a trap and here you are, looking at me, all heart eyed and trying to fix this for the both of us.”

“There should be a way.”

Keith sighs. “I’ve been stuck here for almost eight years, he won’t let me go, not when he has finally claimed you. He’s wanted you for so long to be his king.”

“His king?”

“Paimon already took your arm so long ago, didn’t he?” Keith nods to his arm. In the shadow realm, the metal is gone and Shiro sees the flesh of his right hand for the first time in years. “Dantalion, who I summoned all those years ago in an angry fit, has been trying to find you for so long.”

“And you watched him do so.” Shiro fills in.

“I watched you for years, too bad the majority of it had to be through the eyes of someone else.”

“Did we know each other before that?”

Keith hums. “You remember the countryside, don’t you? Before the accident happened.”

“Partially.” Shiro says. “It’s all bits and pieces.”

“I remember you from then. We used to be friends. Before I sent all demons down on us, and let them kill everyone you knew.” Keith looks down at his hands. “I ruined so many lives.”

“I’m glad I got to meet you again though. The real you, even if I don’t remember you.” Shiro smiles. Even a Keith he doesn’t know is a nice Keith. He reminds him of the man he got to meet at the beginning of the job.

“What will happen to us? Shiro asks, staring at the moving shadows in the purple and red clouds.

“By the time they’ll find the statues, our bodies will be long gone.” Keith sighs. “When they find out about the bodies, they’ll be sure you walked away with me and have been helping me from the start.”

“And what will  _ he  _ do?” 

“Dantalion? Now that he has his king back, he might as well let the entire farce of being me go.” Keith says. “But he’ll unleash hell now, as he’s always wanted to do.”

“With me.”

“With his king.” Keith corrects him. “ _ You  _ are stuck here with me.”

“No way out?” Shiro frowns.

“Unless you know a strong exorcist who doesn’t get distracted halfway through.”

“Can’t blame me, you’re cute.”

Keith groans. “So eternity in a void is a blessing to you?”

“It’s enough time to know the real you.” Shiro laughs.

“You might never know how short eternity can be.” Keith says, “If the statues get destroyed, they might destroy our souls too. He never got to test it.”

“If Sam finds us, he’ll keep the evidence intact until he finds the culprit. It will be clear there’s no one inside soon enough.”

“So we’re doomed to rot in the bottom of a police station. How romantic.”

Shiro humms. It isn’t how he imagined himself to be. 

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers to himself, “Pacman must be worried sick.”

“The dog?” Keith frowns. “That guy always had a good sense for danger. Should’ve listened to him more.”

“A bit useless. now.” Shiro sighs. “I hope Matt likes owning a spoiled dog now.”

“Maybe he’ll finally lose some of that weight.” Keith smiles. “Although he did look cute with the extra fur.”

Shiro laughs with the idea of Matt running with Pacman in an attempt to lose weight. Still, he knows he’ll never see the dog again. But right now, with Keith by his side, and many things to catch up to, he can sit out eternity for a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end, which I admit, was a bit messier than I originally expected. But it worked out (despite my terrible planning for this)  
> Please support msgaude who made the amazing art for this fic!  
> And now with this one done, I hope to finally update older projects as well <3


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